


The One With the Unusual Breakfast Food

by ifreet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifreet/pseuds/ifreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt/title by umbrella_half, who also asked that it be spoiler-free for any episodes past season 2.  The Winchester definition of unusual is not like ours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With the Unusual Breakfast Food

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umbrella_half](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=umbrella_half).



Sam pushed the mushy O's around the bowl, scowling mutinously.

"Just eat it, Sammy."

"We had Spaghettios for lunch." He scooped some and let them dribble off the spoon. "They were cold then, too."

"We're not supposed to use the hot plate when Dad's not here." Sam didn't answer him, just sat swinging his legs and making patterns in the orange goo. After a moment, Dean stood up and took the bowl, shoving it in the mini-fridge. "Maybe it'll taste better at breakfast. Get ready for bed."

Sam doubted it would, but he went to bed anyway.

But in the morning, Sam woke up to the smell of pancakes. "Dad!" he squealed and launched out of bed.

"Hey, kiddo." Dad smiled at him, waving the spatula. Dean was already up, avidly watching Dad cook.

**

In Stanford's cafeterias, Sam had figured out that, despite what sitcoms had shown him, cold breakfasts were normal. Provided that the cold breakfast was cereal, or granola bars, or leftover pizza. He wasn't sure why pizza was the exception to the dinner-isn't-breakfast rule, but he woke up thinking cold pizza sounded alright -- until he left the bedroom and smelled something better.

Jess was in the kitchen, wearing his t-shirt, her well-worn sleep shorts, and a frown as she peered through the oven window. He had a nice view. "Hey, babe," he said, and she jumped.

"Good morning," she said, smiling. She gave him a brief kiss, turning in his arms to face the oven again.

"What are you making?"

"Finnish Dutch baby," she replied, pulling free to open the oven. Hot air rolled over them. "It's sort of a baked apple pancake-thing? I think it's done, but it was supposed to rise." She pulled it out anyway, putting it on the stovetop to frown at it more directly.

"I'm sure it's fine," he said. And it was, though he was glad she didn't try making it again, because the undercooked middle made him homesick in a way he didn't want to -- couldn't -- explain to her.

**

Sam woke up to the feeling that he was being stared at. He opened his eyes to Dean, watching him from very close with a small frown lodged between his eyebrows.

"Hey," he said, sleepily.

"Hey. How're you doing?" Dean sounded wary.

He felt fine. Better than fi-- oh. Last night. He blinked. "I'm good."

"Yeah?" Dean seemed uncertain, which just wasn't like him.

"Yeah," he said, brushing Dean's cheek. Sam was good. _This_ was good. "We should have pancakes."

"Pancakes? Okay, yeah, pancakes, we can --" Sam grabbed him by the back of the neck and hauled him back down.

"We should have pancakes _later_ ," he clarified and pulled Dean's lips to his.


End file.
